


Shimada Book of Charms

by nerdy-flower (baconnegg)



Series: Witches of Gibraltar [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Brotherly Bonding, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Hanzo's tense but ultimately loving relationship with his father!, I vote yes, Implied Sexual Content, Jesse POV, Kinda, Loosely set in 1940s, M/M, Multi, No overprotective parents here, TIL I like designing monsters?, Zenyatta getting lines!, also bodyswap shenanigans, and more!, are they still dad jokes when you're the mom, featuring noodle dragons!, hanzo pov, just several dad jokes, let genji and hanzo hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 08:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/nerdy-flower
Summary: It was a really nice family vacation until Genji and Zenyatta got cursed.





	Shimada Book of Charms

**Author's Note:**

> cw for some mild violence, blood mentions, very slight body horror but nothing bad I promise

Magic and shenanigans are two things that don't take a break during the holidays, which usually means the Overwatch Council had to draw straws for who would be stuck watching the enchanted mirrors and awaiting summons from anyone in mild-to-mortal danger. This year, four of them volunteered in exchange for taking off over the New Year. The shenanigans remained blessedly mild, limited to a marauding vampire, some escalated and unprofessional hexing between several restaurant owners in the south of France, and one easily-remedied pox. They made their notes and were through the leylines before the others could take down the mistletoe. 

They emerge through the last rock into a light snow that hadn't been falling in Kyoto, turning everything around a crunchy white and piling around their ankles at the base of the hill. A six-odd story building sits up ahead, with walls crafted of white plaster and tightly woven vines, ceramic tile roofs trimmed with red eaves. Bare trees stand tall and lissome in the setting sun over the stout, thick walls surrounding the place. The only entrance appears to be the wooden gate at the end of the steep path, tall and emblazoned with the Shimada family crest. 

“That's a goddamn castle.” 

Genji's smile lights up one side of Jesse's vision, peering over his woolly scarf. “You expected anything less?” 

A crack of thunder sounds overhead, the pale grey clouds abruptly turning dark and flashing with sheet lightning. A tinge of green seeps through them that would have Jesse running for the nearest cellar if Hanzo wasn't at his side, half-grinning and following his brother as he whoops and lopes towards the entrance, Zenyatta floating quickly behind him. “She always has to announce us, as if we're the Prince of Wales or something.” 

His hand is still in Jesse's, not yet released from their trip through the stones. He doesn't let go until they reach the woman at the gate. Clad in a dark blue kimono with a loose green jacket over top, hair seemingly less grey than Hanzo's pulled into a tight bun at her nape, standing at Genji's height until she swallows her sons into her embrace. Zenyatta hovers patiently at Jesse's side, his metal frame bundled in a smart pea coat, chuckling melodiously as the two are squeezed tight and kissed upon the forehead. 

Realization that this is Hanzo's _home_ sends warmth flickering through Jesse's chest, deeper than the fireballs he'd cast between leyline stations to stave off their shivers. Hanzo introduces him while wiping a red smear from his forehead. He offers a broad smile and a small bow, suddenly realizing that Hanzo's explanation on honorifics has slid clean out of his head, forcing him to drop the English one awkwardly in the middle of his sentence. “[You must be Missus Shimada, a pleasure to meet you. I can see where Hanzo gets his good looks from.]” 

Hanzo's ears burn red under his earmuffs, but Taeko just laughs brightly into her hand, cementing the resemblance between mother and son. “And it's very nice to meet someone I have heard so much about, I hope you find our home to your liking.” 

Jesse surely has no concerns there, the courtyard and inner walls revealing themselves as resplendent despite the nakedness of winter. Zenyatta finishes greeting her in a more formal accent than Jesse can swing, his non-existent vocal chords unconstrained by the confoundment of differing tongues, and she leads them into the castle. Heat seeps through the ample halls, visible as sparking dragonfire in low pits in every room. Art and calligraphy hang perfectly in every corridor, looking so ancient and valuable that Jesse's a little afraid to sneeze. 

Taeko sends their outerwear and packs floating off to different wings with a wordless lift of her hand. Jesse's impressed murmur is interrupted by Genji's excited shout of “Tou-san!” as he bounds towards a subdued figure strolling down the hall. 

Hanzo's father, on first glance, lives up to the imposition of his memory. Permanent lines in his forehead and almost completely silver from crown to beard, the same neutral expression that prompted some Council members to initially dismiss Hanzo as merely dour and unapproachable, and a crisply pressed shirt-and-trousers ensemble that Hanzo similarly favours for errands. But he also has the same subtle smile that chases all of that stiff regality away in an instant. His serious eyes land on Jesse, whispering something inaudible to Hanzo as he hugs him, leaving him visibly flustered. Genji laughs, so it can't be that bad. 

The long walk to the dining room surprises Jesse further, not because of the surrounding grandeur (though that certainly explains the brothers' tendencies to run up three-figure bar tabs), but because of the screens that open and close and the dishes that serve themselves with no noticeable input from their hosts. It calls up tales from the Southwest of old witches so powerful, they were able to charm their entire homes into caring for them until their deaths. Taeko and Sojiro are hale and healthy yet, but they seem to have already reached that level. 

“Ah, please don't take offence, Zenyatta-san” Sojiro says from the head of the table, looking a little more affable in the bright glow of the hearth and the hanging lamps, his voice a kindly rumble. “But I understand that you cannot eat, is there something we can do for you instead?” 

“No need, simply being included is enough,” Zen waves a hand, making his gold earrings clink against the edges of his ever-placid face, holding a tea cup with the other for the warmth. “I enjoy an aesthetic taste rather than a literal one. The sights and smells of food please me greatly. I have sat at many tables all over the world and no two meals have been the same.” His red-lined glass eyes shine with mirth. “And my appreciation of good company cannot be understated.” 

Genji beams, the carved obsidian of his chin glinting in the firelight, squeezing Zenyatta's hand beneath the table. Taeko smiles softly and beckons in platters with a wave of her hand. The food is hearty as hell, exactly what Jesse's road-weary stomach has been hankering for the past two days. Thick udon noodles, the same miso Hanzo occasionally makes at the Watchpoint claiming it underwhelming (Jesse tastes no difference, but the argument is unwinnable), and extra rice even when he says he's full. 

The brothers fill their parents in on their successes and mishaps in exchange for local news, dotted with names Jesse faintly recognizes. As gifts, they offer hard-to-find jazz records which Sojiro appraises with a keen eye. Zenyatta, in his erstwhile-monk simplicity, offers baseball pennants that set off a spirited back-and-forth between him and Taeko. The family's dragons hop and dart between the dishes, the slender green pair and deep cobalt one scenting him and Zenyatta, peering curiously when Jesse extends his hand in greeting and nipping experimentally at his fingers. 

It makes up for the dry Christmas dinner they'd cobbled together last week, thoughts too occupied by the captive held behind heavily-enchanted bars in the lowest level of the Rock. More smoke and memory than man. Jesse ventured down more than once to watch him pace endlessly, like a big cat in a zoo. He would often see Jack or Ana, standing closer than most of the healers dared and unlike him, not flinching away when a familiar, anguished face materializes just long enough to stare back at them before being consumed by acrid fog- 

Jesse shakes his head on the way back from the restroom. It won't do to bring those kind of thoughts here. Hanzo had invited him so sweetly, as interested in easing his mind as introducing him to his hometown and his family. Nothing to be done about it until they return, best to keep himself occupied for now. 

“Bath's free,” Taeko pops her head into the family room, speaking over the music program playing on the radio. They're all laying like slugs beneath the kotatsu, even Zen. “Your father's gone up to lay out your futons for you.” 

“That's mighty kind of him,” Jesse catches himself on a a yawn. There's heat seeping up through the tatami mats, somehow, and it feels ten kinds of good. 

“We could've done it-” Hanzo yawns in turn, aiming a teasing grimace at him. “Damn you, I'm not tired yet.” 

“Oh no, you've come all this way. You must be exhausted.” Taeko's smile is a slim, fond thing, until it stretches into a too-familiar gleaming grin. “And besides, there's so much to do tomorrow. If you sleep well, then we won't hear any complaining, right?” 

Genji groans pathetically, holding his fist out towards his brother. “Janken?” 

Hanzo shakes his head. “You go first, I'm trying to stretch out my shoulders.” 

Genji hops to it, tugging Zen along with him. Hanzo pulls an unreadable face and wishes his mother goodnight, returning to his supine position. Jesse must take a real long blink, because he opens his eyes to Genji in a loose grey yukata and wet hair, bickering with his brother as usual. 

“They went into the bath together, what's the difference?” 

“It's their house,” Hanzo's voice borders on overbearing, the kind that gets under your skin even when you're not the target. “You didn't need to be so obvious about it. All you had to do was wait five minutes.” 

“You're ridiculous,” Genji replies, in the same flat tone Fareeha uses on Jesse when she's had enough of his bullshit. “Anyway, it's your turn. Good night, McCree. Good night, you crusty old man.” 

“G'night, Genji.” 

Hanzo leans on his elbow, scowling as Genji opens the screen to cut across the courtyard. The Omnic parts must make him less susceptible to cold because the breeze that blows in borders on icy. Hanzo waits until the door is nearly closed before lifting his hand and muttering “[Return.]” 

The yukata comes flying back into the room, sans Genji, and he immediately claps his hands together. Shaking with taunting laughter and the strain of holding the door shut against his brother's frantic counter-spells. Genji finally gives up, shouting a string of creative insults and making a heavy-footed dash across the yard. 

When they collect themselves from devious laughter, Hanzo offers him a hand up. “Come on, if they're going to do it, we might as well do the same.” 

The baths are maybe the best thing Jesse's ever seen, at least this week. A wee wooden bench beneath metal spouts that summon sluices of hot water at Hanzo's touch. Strong hands scrub the grime from his back and hair and he returns the favour, both of them nearly moaning in sheer bliss. Jesse's never been too fussed about baths, but the basin's bigger than the fish pond outside, lined with boulders and lit by high windows that let the moonlight in. 

“You can soak with your legs on?” 

Hanzo hums affirmatively, tying his hair up as he descends the sunken stone stairs, looking like a goddamn undine if Jesse didn't know better. The pale wood of his lower legs darkened from their rinse. “I do have to dry them carefully, otherwise they'll grow moss.” 

A laugh puffs out of Jesse's chest. “You're kiddin'.” 

“I learned the hard way, once,” Hanzo grins, settling beside Jesse and jerking his head to one side. “Will the steam damage your arm?” 

“Nah, it was made in worse humidity than this. Can't soak it though, rust is a real pain.” Jesse chuckles low, scratching lightly along the back of Hanzo's bared neck and feeling his whole body melt against him. His eyes shut as his cheek melds to Jesse's shoulder. “Don't think I've ever seen ya this relaxed, darlin'.” 

Hanzo flushes faintly, pale brown eyes peeping open. “I suppose I was more homesick than I thought.” His hand slides up from its light perch on Jesse's belly, over his chest and and curves against his neck, pulling him close enough to brush a kiss along the thrum of his pulse. “It is good to have you here.” 

Jesse leans back into the rocks, wraps his flesh arm around Hanzo's shoulders and kisses his forehead where his hair is swept back, letting his lips linger on damp, heated skin. A flash of light in the water catches his eye. Hanzo's dragons chase moonbeams, chittering quietly to each other as if gossiping, bringing a smirk to his face. “Say, you mentioned only Shimadas get dragons, right?” A barely-there nod. “How'd your ma end up with 'em, then?” 

“Oh, my parents are brother and sister.” Jesse blanches just long enough for Hanzo to lose it, guffaws turning to wet sputters when he's splashed, still emerging smug and triumphant. “I had you going for a second, didn't I?” 

“Shut it, you,” Jesse jabs a finger into his ribs, lips curled on a half-smile. “Seriously though, is it a secret?” 

“Not at all,” Hanzo smiles and curls into Jesse's side once more, drawing his knees up to rest his elbows on. “Spouses can acquire dragons when the couple makes a promise of commitment to one another- not a simple confession of feelings, can you imagine? A true vow of devotion, that they will share the burdens and joys of life together, always, and that they will protect and care for each other and their kin.” A soft chuckle shakes them both. “There are tales of lovers forbidden from seeing each other, only for the outsider to turn up with a dragon and force the hand of the elders, for better or for worse.” 

“I see,” Jesse nuzzles Hanzo's hair, feeling like he could stay right here for a week. “Y'all must have people linin' up 'round the block to propose. 'Marry a Shimada, get a dragon'- s'a pretty sweet deal.” 

Hanzo snort-laughs, adorable if a little distant. “It's not that straightforward, I'm afraid. There are many cases of spouses who never receive a dragon, the same for children born to our line, but then adopted wards have received them. It's impossible to know what the criteria is, I wish I could say it's correlated to character-” Hanzo cups water in his left hand, letting it drain away. “But it doesn't seem to be.” 

Jesse takes Hanzo's hand in his metal one, bringing it up to drag a kiss over the wrist, where the shifting ink begins and small scars catch. A couple of distraught chirps sound just inches away, the dragons glaring back at him from their perch on Hanzo's forearm. “Oops, sorry, lil' fellas.” 

Hanzo turns his head while he pecks each one on their transparent horned heads, chuckling with guarded eyes, smile broadening when he receives one to match on his cheek. “At the risk of soundin' morbid, where do the dragons go when one of ya dies?” 

Hanzo lets his head drop back against Jesse's bicep, his eyes on the moon, the dragons leaping inside his arm to rest- or whatever it is they do in there. “When one who bears a dragon's mark dies, they are consumed by their fire, leaving nothing. Not bones, not even ash. The dragons, presumably, return to where they come from. Where that is, only our dead and the eighty million gods know.” 

The wind whips up outside, making the castle creak. Jesse regards his partner with curiosity, watching those handsome eyes shine back at him. “We hold funerals outdoors for good reason. I have watched it happen with my father's parents. It was- sad, of course, but also very beautiful.” 

“I bet.” Jesse's voice is low, his thoughts turned to the dozens of close calls they'd had since last autumn. He gathers himself closer to Hanzo's bulk and noses along his temple, breathing in the clean, soapy scent of him. 

The morning sun rises later now, which is just fine by Jesse's aching bones. As consciousness draws him up from the well of dreams, he notices fingers brushing over his face, trailing along his arm, and suppresses a grin. Not the first time he's woken up to Hanzo pawing at him, but if he calls attention to it, the man acts like he's been caught out. So he rolls onto his back, opens his eyes slower than strictly necessary. “Hey there, sunshine.” 

Hanzo smiles, looking splendidly unmade with his hair down and beard all scruffy, one shoulder bared in the cold dawn. The corners of his mouth turn salacious as his eyes darken, fingers stroking hungrily over Jesse's hairy chest where his yukata hangs open. “You look so good, all laid out in my bed like this.” 

Jesse mirrors Hanzo's lusty expression, reaching up for that strong, sinewy body as Hanzo confidently mounts his hips, one hand pinning him to the sheets. “Oh, you don't say?” 

Afterwards, they lay close, Jesse on his side and Hanzo on his back, one hand tucked beneath his head to accentuate his smug, satisfied pose. Knuckles trace bearded jaws and lips meet again and again. They stretch lazily within the cocoon of the futon, dust motes hanging in the air above. The cavernous room is lit dramatically with the rising sun and the ever-flickering dragonfire in the centre. The hallways above squeak and thump with otherworldly life, a sound that taps into an old, soothing part of Jesse's mind. “So this whole wing's yours?” 

“Correct. Genji has one to himself as well.” Hanzo lets his head loll to one side, his hair a tangled black and grey halo around his head. He gazes out absently, every fine movement of his body slowed. “There's a small kitchen here as well, next door, and a study. Before the Council, I would get lost in spellwork for days, only venturing out to the storehouse or the woods. It's so quiet here, it's easy to focus and forget everything else.” 

Jesse hums, tracing his fingers down the pale cords of Hanzo's neck. “Gorgeous.” 

“Thank you, I've tried to take good care of-” Hanzo blinks in surprise when Jesse tilts his chin back towards him, his smile slow and almost shy. “Oh.” 

The tug of Hanzo's hand in his hair as they seal their lips together sends a little flutter through Jesse's chest that he maybe should have outgrown by now, but when they're together he can't give a damn. The press of bare skin and kiss-bitten lips keeps him thoroughly distracted, until he hears an odd trilling, followed by a firm tug at the covers. He half-sits up to find two pale green dragons staring back at them, borderline judgmental. 

“What's that mean?” 

“It means we're slightly late for breakfast,” Hanzo cringes, kicking the duvet back and rushing over to his dresser, his wooden toes skidding along the mats. 

After another helping of delicious rice and vegetables and a cup of hot tea for Zen, Taeko claps her hands together in mild glee and lays out the day's plans. She and Sojiro had attended to the more mundane cleaning tasks already, but the upper levels require tidying and inventory. Jesse understands why soon enough, finding himself in boarded up, lamp-lit storerooms of seemingly infinite artifacts. Seemingly innocuous bolts of cloth so covered in seals that the fabric is barely visible. Heavy wooden chests inscribed with many languages that take both him and Hanzo to levitate. A grand piano that plays itself when they leave the room, countless vials of liquid in every shade and viscosity, ancient weapons trimmed in jewels. Delft plates and cords of strong rope. A proper dragon's hoard cobbled out of inheritances, payments, and tributes. 

Sojiro drops in for maybe the fourth time while they're tallying a stock of tallow candles. “Hanzo, the university baseball team is having a special game tomorrow, we can catch it on the radio if you wake up before nine.” 

Hanzo nods, his pen ticking away on the paper in front of him. “I was planning on it, Kaa-san already told me.” 

“Ah, alright,” and off he goes again. 

Hanzo's movements turn subtly urgent, quickly reorganizing the treasures. “We should hurry a little, he wants us to finish up.” 

Jesse snorts as he carefully removes a spider and its accomplished web from a stone tanuki statue. “I'm pretty sure he just missed you.” 

Hanzo scoffs. “I lived here for thirty-eight years and I've been gone less than two, there's nothing to miss.” 

Jesse's reply is interrupted by the slide of the screen door. Sojiro lifts a hand towards the fire, his heavily-lined tattoo alighting briefly as the blue-green fire roars and he nods at them. “There's a draft up here, don't want you two to catch cold.” 

Jesse aims a smirk at Hanzo as his father leaves again but he doesn't, or at least pretends not to notice. 

He encounters the older man again on his way to fetch more ceramic-wrapping paper, stomping past him on the stairs, kimono sleeves tied back and hair escaping his slicked-back widow's peak. He frowns in a sympathy-seeking manner when their eyes meet. “Karasu-tengu tantrum on the roof, does this every three months or so because we won't let him inside. Always when we have company.” 

Jesse nods, though he can't pick out a single spirit amidst all the energy in the house. “Need a hand?” 

“No, I've gotten a handle on him over the years. Although, if you don't mind-” Sojiro rummages in his pocket, producing a small, neatly-tied cloth bag. “I don't want to leave it too late. Would you please take this to the farthest right-hand room on the first floor in the north wing and leave it on the table?” 

Jesse grips the bag, feeling something like pebbles inside. “Yessir, first far north right table, will do.” 

Sojiro smiles gratefully before tile crashes far above their heads and he rushes off, cursing under his breath. 

In that far room, Jesse discovers a dollhouse-perfect child's room, complete with a small, rumpled futon and loads of toys, some neatly lined up in the corner, some scattered across the floor. The low table sits against the wall beneath a shuttered window. His slippered feet trod on something, a plush rabbit with its arm hanging half-off and the stuffing coming out. No sooner does he bend to grab it than two sharp wooden points hit him square in the scalp. 

“Ow! The hell-” He looks up from where the chopsticks have landed at his feet into the rafters, finding a young child peering back at him. Their bobbed hair hangs around their face, only their black-as-doll's eyes visible. He smiles, holding up the rabbit. “[Is this yours?]” 

The child continues to stare, unblinking. Jesse doesn't look away, reaching into his shirt pocket and withdrawing the small sewing kit he keeps for his frequent clothing repairs, showing it to them. He lowers himself to the floor with a grunt of creeping age, sitting cross-legged and making quick work of the rip with a running stitch. The thread doesn't quite match, but the child seems unbothered, drifting down to crouch in front of him and supervise. 

Burning the end of the thread off with the smallest flicker of flame from his fingertip, he holds the limp toy out towards them. “[There you go, Bun-Bun is all fixed.]” 

The child grins at last, pretty cute despite being translucent, snatching the toy out of his hands and cuddling it to her chest. Jesse finally remembers the bag in his other pocket and holds it out as well. When her expression turns confused, he opts to untie the bag and pours the contents– spiky sugar candies – into the little one's extended palm. 

He spots another small face peering at him then, from behind a low chest of drawers. This one younger, perhaps three, and with closely-cropped hair and a darker, heavier kimono. He gestures obviously with the bag of candies. “[For him, too?]” 

The older child nods, turning and sticking her hand out with a smile. The young boy creeps close, clinging to her side. As small and delicate as a sparrow, his face ghastly pale against the pink fabric. Jesse dumps the rest of the candies into his tentatively outstretched hands. The pair smile and dash off towards the wall, the echo of tinkling laughter remaining as they disappear. Jesse smooths out his hair, stands, and whistles his way back to Hanzo. Sweet kids, whatever they are. 

The sun sets quick, and the six of them regroup in the sitting room. Taeko floats a series of kimonos in front of Jesse and Zen, her finger flicking as though through a magazine while they stand like mannequins. “No, no, no- yes, that will do. And no, yes- There we are.” She smiles and sends the rest floating back upstairs, laying a dark solid red one and a geometric-patterned indigo one over her arm. “I'll try to let the hems down if I can, but you'll need to wear trousers. You're both so tall.” 

Jesse follows Hanzo into the root cellar for curiosity's sake while he hymns and haws over which bottle to bring up, admiring the fastidiously organized spell ingredients as well as the fact they have enough vintage liquor to get an entire city three sheets to the wind. After a few rounds of aged sake, Hanzo's mother does as every good hostess does and tells an embarrassing story about her husband despite his continued protests. 

“He dusts himself off and goes-” Taeko clears her throat, miming a serious expression with arms crossed, eyes lowered, and voice forced deeper. “'Well, I suppose I should give you points for boldness.'” 

Everyone but Sojiro cracks up, though he stifles a laugh behind his cup. Genji raises off his knees to lean across the table. “A toast to Taeko's boldness, for without it, we might have never have been born!” 

“Hah! Too right!” Taeko grins and clinks cups with her son. A clock tolls the hour and everyone takes the hint to toss the last of their dessert and drinks into their mouths. “You know, I initially considered it a blessing that only one of our sons inherited his inability to properly flirt, but then Genji's youth proved it to be much more of a curse.” 

All three of the Shimada men drop their heads at once, as if struck. Genji and Hanzo whine while Sojiro scratches his beard at length, speaking into his hand. “To eviscerate all three of us like that in one blow, I must have married a demon.” 

“Hm? Would you like me to fetch some ice for your ego, dear husband?” Taeko feigns a sickly-sweet tone, prodding at the man's arm. Jesse nearly chokes on his food, the mere possibility of her and Ana being in the same room- No one would be safe when that day came to pass. 

“I might as well pass these out now,” Sojiro withdraws four red envelopes from his pocket and floats it to each of them, nodding towards Jesse and Zenyatta. “There are usually food stalls and the like, I wasn't sure if you were able to get any money changed before you arrived.” 

“Aren't we a little old for this?” Hanzo comments after the guests express their sincere thanks. 

“I'll take yours if you don't- ow!” Genji gets his hand zapped by Hanzo when he grabs for the envelope, zapping him in turn. They don't get the chance to escalate, because two vines drop down from the ceiling and haul them to their feet by their collars. Taeko reminds them that they aren't too old to get sent to bed early, either. 

Hanzo's hands whisper over Jesse's body as they dress in his room, though he could very easily use a spell to save time. His dragons tumble and leap at their feet, tugging at their hems while they kiss. Genji's little one is similarly agitated, herding them towards the front entrance and pacing restlessly until Sojiro and Taeko appear, decked out in their finest. They all tug on their pointed hats and wrap up in jacket, serape, and stole. Taeko rubs a spot of rouge from her teeth and catches her husband's eye. “Do I look alright?” 

“Absolutely stunning,” Sojiro replies, with a sincerity that prompts Genji to gag just to make Zenyatta giggle. His mother flicks him on the back of the head, sending his glasses askew. Hanzo's fingers wordlessly entangle with Jesse's as they bring up the rear, heading off into the night. 

The local temple is densely packed with every resident of Hanamura. Kids are underfoot and spirits flit overhead, but the crowd parts respectfully for them. The Shimadas leave Jesse and Zen near the massive wooden structure holding the bell, Zenyatta clutching Jesse's sleeve so that he doesn't get caught up in the bustling crowd. Jesse passes him a little fireball, lest his mechanical joints seize up in the frigid air. Despite the crush of people around them and the occasional inquisitive stare at Zen, it's a beautiful place with an impenetrable feeling of peace and safety. The whole trip has felt like stepping through the looking glass of Hanzo and Genji's stories, every detail like an illustration painted to life. 

After the hundred-and-eighth ring, the four witches step forward on the platform, looking for all the world like royalty in their silks and rings, hair tied back and diplomatic smiles on their lips. A few flashes of light, and six dragons take to the sky at full size, spitting drops of fire in patterns and sprays. It puts every fireworks show Jesse's ever seen to shame. Shouts and applause go up from the crowd while Jesse watches the serpents twist and spin, the sky lit to nearly daylight. He notices that Genji and Hanzo's dragons are significantly smaller than their parents', and wonders how big they can get. 

“They really are amazing, aren't they?” Zenyatta's voice brings Jesse out of his reverie. He nods at the Omnic's profile and kindly refrains from calling him out for staring solely at his beloved student, standing tall with scars bared and eyes clear. Hanzo's solemn gaze catches his own from afar and softens something wonderful. For a moment, Jesse's thoughts are lighter than the cotton candy they bought on the way in, clearer than they have been in many months. 

The Shimadas are stopped by at least a hundred people on their way home, the quick trip up the road and overhill turning into a wedding march. Jesse notices a waxy stiffness in Hanzo's expressions when he's addressed, a formality to his words that sounds unnatural. He doesn't get a chance to ask after him, as they head for the kotatsu as soon as they kick off their boots. Cracking open Jesse's gift of the finest scotch that a Council stipend can buy and watching the light snow falling outside. It's enough to take the edge of the night's energy off. 

They're about to turn in when a panicked knocking at the gate startles them. Two adults in torn clothes and a squalling baby- the local innkeeper, Sakiko, along with her wife and their newborn daughter, Hanzo helpfully supplies -speaking in breathless hysterics to Taeko and Sojiro. The two finally heave fearful tears, catching their breath as Taeko leads them inside, lips thinned and hands gentle. 

“Have you ever dealt with a gashadokuro before?” Hanzo directs his attention to Jesse, who shakes his head. 

“Haven't had the pleasure,” Jesse chuckles, tiredly rubbing one eye. “But there's a first time for everything.” 

“I suppose three whole days off was too much to ask,” Sojiro drawls, sighing through his nose and heading towards the workshop. “Let's go.” 

With the innkeeper's family carefully tucked away in a guest wing and a hefty seal painted over the front gate, they follow the weepy directions they were given. Hanzo and Sojiro maintain a bubble of electricity over the group, silencing their movements and the clink of weapons. It's a little like looking through clear beach water, the snowy fields beyond it warping and glinting oddly. 

When they cross the bridge south of the village, a ringing passes through the barrier, like tinnitus cranked up a few notches. Everyone stills, waiting until a tall form shifts between the trees, shadowed by evergreens. An almost grinding sound comes next, along with the snapping of branches as it moves aimlessly. 

“Smaller than I expected,” Hanzo notes, withdrawing a few wards from his pocket. 

“I think I can take care of it,” Genji steps to the edge of the barrier, turning to the Omnic floating at his side and extending his hand, a mischievous smile disrupting the scars around his lips. “With your help, Master?” 

“Of course,” Zenyatta lowers his feet to the earth and slips his hand into Genji's. “So long as you guard my body for the duration.” 

“With my life,” Genji's eyes soften as he steps out of the barrier, nodding over his shoulder. “Cover us.” 

“Genji, wait-” Taeko replies in concern, but her son is already out. Sleeve rolled up and tattoo crackling to life as he summons his dragon. Jesse bites the inside of his cheek. They always did have that in common, a little show-off streak that Genji has thankfully never completely lost. He and Hanzo know what's coming next. 

The larger, much more intimidating form of Ramen surges up, illuminating the towering skeleton in grim, green shadows. It moves towards them with yawning determination, not fast but quick enough to be disconcerting as the ringing noise returns, louder with the barrier lowered. Taeko and Sojiro have their hands raised before Genji locks an arm around Zenyatta's slim waist. Something like spun gold rushes out from the Omnic, leaving his body limp as an unstrung marionette. His metals without their shine and his expression as one asleep. 

At the dragon's side hovers something that resembles Zen- in an artist's impression kinda way -faceless and eight-armed, as bright as a meteor and about as large as its companion, balls of gold and purple circling around. It seems to bow to its partner before leaping forward. The result is something simultaneously humanoid and serpentine, leaning back to stretch its elongated spine and palming orbs with its many hands, the glow now more concentrated and near white-hot beneath green scales. 

The dragon/Zenyatta does not linger, lobbing the orbs one after another to encircle the approaching gashadokuro. They draw energy from the creature, stringy and deep purple, twisting around until it's virtually immobile, its head tilted back unnaturally while that damned ringing picks up, forcing all of them to cover their ears. 

“ _Ryūjin no ken wo kurae!_ ” 

His blade cleaves down and the skeleton is devoured in short, fiery order. Golden energy pulses out after it, sending snow spraying in their faces. When they blink the frost away, Ramen has returned to miniature size, perching atop Genji's shoulder while the gauzy mass of gold dives back into Zenyatta's limp form, the dots on his forehead regaining their teal light. He pops back to life with a start, pressing segmented fingers to his neck. “My, that was quite exhilarating.” 

“Pretty neat trick, right?” Genji pushes his glasses up, preening as he keeps his arm unnecessarily tight around Zenyatta's middle. His bare arm still sparks green, and gold along the silver inlays. “We've been refining it for years, our first attempts weren't nearly so effective.” 

“Indeed,” is all Taeko can manage, eyes blank and one knuckle between her teeth, gears turning away in her head. Jesse catches Sojiro's spot-on rendition of the bug-eyed surprise he finds so endearing on Hanzo. He turns his head to hide an amused laugh, feeling Hanzo shake with the same at his elbow. 

“I was not aware Omnic spirits were- visible, in that way,” Sojiro says, a little tightly as a night wind whips through them. 

“Visibility is a choice,” Zenyatta answers politely, folding up into his usual floating position as they turn back towards the village and home. “As is being summoned, though many of us forgot for a time.” 

Jesse makes the grave mistake of feeling grateful it's all over. Not a second later, they hear another noise from the woods. Not a ringing, but something garbled, between a moan and a territorial growl. “Oh hell- they don't come in matched sets, do they?” 

“Not usually,” Hanzo turns on his heel and draws an arrow from his quiver. His father holds a barrier in front of them as heavy footsteps shake the ground, accompanied by another sound that Jesse can only compare to being a kid and angrily scribbling a pencil all over a piece of paper. Except more like a thousand kids with a thousand pencils. Something finally lurches out of the woods, something grey-green and swollen, partly liquid in appearance, covered in ash or dirt and smelling putrid. Something with too many legs and a humped back that brushes the highest branches. Something with empty white eyes and a slack-open jaw that's looking right at them. 

“What in the-” 

Jesse doesn't get to finish that thought, because as soon as Sojiro lowers the barrier for them to let fly, a long, oozing limb lunges out and catches hold of Zenyatta, hauling him into its mass. Genji bellows his name, strangled by fear and races forward, only for him and Ramen to get pulled in to a chorus of frightened screams. The creature turns to lumber back into the woods. Fireballs, arrows, and spells rip through its gelatinous skin, but it doesn't stop. 

Taeko curses and wrenches roots from the frosty earth, a few raw, indecipherable words curling the tree into a spear much larger than her naginata. An arrow whizzes by Jesse's head and lodges itself in the trunk, the enormous rush of Sojiro's dragon that follows knocks him twenty feet back. His head thumps painfully against the frozen ground, sending his ears ringing. He faintly hears the thing gurgle seemingly in pain and gallop away much too quickly for something of its size. Shaking the stars from his eyes, he finds Hanzo in the snow beside him and helps him to his feet, the man scrambling forward and crying out for his brother. 

Jesse throws up a few fireballs for light and finds the surrounding trees flattened, broke off in the middle and the root-spear laying broken in the centre, covered in torn-off bits of rotting grey gunk. Genji and Zenyatta lay many paces away, side by side in a pile of brush. The man seems to rally as they run to his side, pulling himself to sitting while the Omnic lays limp, unmoving.

“I'm alright, I'm alright,” Genji wheezes. His kimono hangs ripped, his chest bloodied, a seal branded over his heart. When he opens his eyes, they're glowing a dim yellow. “But we have a small problem.” 

The residents of Hanamura must be used to this sort of thing, because no one accosts them on the way back. Sakiko and her family sleep soundly in a guest room while they stumble into the opposite wing. Jesse supports Genji's shoulders and lets him grip his metal hand near to breaking as Sojiro tries to draw the seal off his chest. 

“No, stop- enough!” Genji grabs his father's wrist, breathing through gritted teeth, tattoo sparking yellow-green. “It's no good. The only way it's coming off is if you pull all my insides out with it.” 

Sojiro's face turns ashen as he strokes his son's hair. With Genji's chest stripped and cleaned, it's easy to watch the golden glow of Zenyatta's spirit bobbing around inside the deep purple, flexible metal that covers a good chunk of his torso, jaw, and throat. Zenyatta's body, laid in a dignified if unsettling repose to the side, bears a similar seal melted into his forehead. The scrawl on both of them barely legible as any characters. Hanzo hands Jesse a makeshift cold compress- cloth-wrapped ice from outside -which he gladly applies to the enormous goose egg emerging from his skull. 

“We need to call the Watchpoint,” Taeko rasps, a hand over her eyes following Genji's description of the creature's slimy hands attempting to pry their souls from their bodies but only succeeding with Zenyatta's before it was hit. Her sleeves are rolled up as Hanzo rubs restorative salve into her shaking arms, ligaments painfully torn from overexertion. “There's no way you can sustain two spirits for long. If you get weak and that thing comes back- you cannot be here-” 

“Kaa-san, it's alright,” Genji soothes, though Jesse can still see a tremble in his shoulders. “He isn't draining me, we've done this before-” 

Her head snaps up. “What do you mean you've done this before?” 

“Because of my Omnic parts,” Genji taps the silver joint of his right shoulder. “He can possess me, so to speak. He couldn't if I was only flesh and blood.” 

A beat of muted surprise from all of them. “And you found this out how?” 

“Eh, we were bored,” Genji smiles weakly. Hanzo and Taeko sigh while Sojiro claps his son's shoulder, expression warring between exhaustion and amusement. Genji summons a thread of Harmony with one hand and a small green bolt with the other, spinning them together between his hands until they shatter apart. “In all seriousness, it's a bit- crowded, but I'm not suffering, I swear.” 

“That is reassuring,” Sojiro says, his voice rough. “But we still need to get him back into his own body. I've never seen anything like this, the Overwatch Council is our only hope.” 

“Actually, well- no- maybe-” Genji stills in concentration, fists balling up and eyes lowered. When he lifts his head to speak again, the motion is unnatural and Zenyatta's sonorous voice comes spilling out. “Perhaps it's better if I explain.” 

Jesse swears he feels everyone recoil in unison, but Genji- Zen? -holds his hands up. “Please, don't be alarmed. I'm doing this with Genji's consent, he hasn't gone anywhere.” He pauses before folding his hands in his lap to continue. “The seals on our bodies are similar to the ones some witches used to trap summoned Omnics in their vessels, or bend them to harmful commands. It was eventually discovered that the only thing capable of breaking the seals were the deaths of those who cast them.” 

“Hence the Omnic Crisis,” Jesse adds, folding one knee up to rest his elbow on, cool water dribbling down his arm and unpleasantly wetting his sleeve. 

“Precisely,” Zenyatta-Genji nods, in a measured way more suited to his own body. He seems unsure of how to properly move Genji's face, but presses on. “Unfortunately, while I know the what, I'm unsure of the who. The shock of the ordeal has left my memory blank.” 

“I think I know,” Taeko's lips pull tight around her teeth as Hanzo continues working on her arms. His dragons nest around her ankles, butting their noses against her as if to help. “These aren't the actions of some malicious spirit. Someone ordered it- or created it, to do this.” 

Sojiro's shoulders draw up and back, his eyes narrowing. “They cannot escape, and they can't send curses beyond the walls.” 

“So we thought,” Taeko drawls, tipping her head towards her younger son. “But I've recently regained a belief in the impossible.” 

The room is silent but for the wind whistling outdoors. Jesse needs no explanation for who 'they' are. He's gotten the story bit by bit, a rough draft from Genji polished and edited by Hanzo. The Shimada clan bet everything on a power play and lost, badly. Hanzo has alluded to them being locked away somewhere in the vast sea, worse off than livestock, his parents periodically receiving notices of deaths, nothing more. 

“But why this?” Hanzo nearly spits the words, eyes clouded in confusion. “They desire us dead, why- toy with us beforehand?” 

“I'm not sure,” Taeko's nostrils flare. Her ruined kimono parts at her neck, showing the tip of a deep scar that leads down below the layers. “But in this case, we need to consider a more permanent solution.” She and Sojiro lock eyes. “We still have that option. Our word remains law.” 

He nods, slowly. “They cannot be afforded an opportunity to finish the job.” 

Genji sits up straight, instantly restless and red in the face. “No, we can't jump straight to that. We don't even know if it's them-” 

“Who else could it be?” His father interrupts, ink shifting where his sleeve is rolled up. “We have no other enemies.” 

“We cannot play these games, not again,” Taeko shakes her head, acid on her tongue. “I'll handle the executions myself before I let them lay another finger on any of us.” 

“Absolutely not!” Genji bites outs, eyes flashing darker. “Zenyatta and I are the ones most affected, I- we don't condone this, even if it is them.” 

“Genji, you could have been killed!” It's Hanzo's turn to bare teeth, his dragons leaping back inside his tattoo to protect their vessel as he tosses his hand in a frustrated gesture. “He's probably concussed, he doesn't know what he's saying.” 

“The hell I don't!” Genji's arm lights up like a neon sign, complimenting his new eyes quite well. He rears like a proper dragon, though something in his posture seems held back. “Keeping them imprisoned is one thing, we have no right to end their lives-” 

“They forfeited their right to live once already!” Taeko hisses, seeming calmer but ropes of dark green wind through the walls around them, curling through the innumerable roots supporting the posts and beams and sprouting thorn after thorn. Jesse inches away from the wall, trying not to draw attention to himself. “Now is no time for playing pacifist, we are in danger.” 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Genji snaps, offering a glimpse of his younger self, squaring his shoulders as thunder rolls outside. “I didn't realize it was still the sixteenth century and we're bloodthirsty warlords, my mistake!” 

“Mind your tone!” Hanzo barks, seemingly on reflex. The crow's feet around his eyes deepen as he tries to restrain himself. “What is it you _want?_ ” 

“You tell me first!” Genji answers quickly, Zenyatta's soul wobbling around in his chest as he seethes. “Do you want our legacy to be a mass murder? Is that what everyone's so keen on?” 

The thorns tighten suddenly in the walls, snapping parts of themselves off. Everyone's on edge, ink sparking. Lightning cracks outside and Jesse really wishes that Zen were in his own body so he'd have someone to make mutually uncomfortable eye contact with right about now. 

“It is not for either of you to decide,” Sojiro's thunderous voice cuts in, setting himself between his sons. “You two are our legacy, and we will do whatever is necessary to spare you more pain and embarrassment.” 

“And that is _final,_ ” Taeko affirms when Hanzo and Genji move to speak, voice firm and deeply pained. She settles back on her heels and breathes deep. The spiny roots recede, as does the growing storm outside. They all draw inwards, finding neutral points on the floor to stare at. Hanzo's face is contorted, several emotions fighting for control. Irritably, he floats Jesse's scotch in from the other room along with a few cups, pouring one for his mother first. She accepts it with a tiny, grateful smile and thumbs his cheek, bringing some gentleness back to his eyes. 

A thought occurs to Jesse, and he opts to shoot first and ask forgiveness later. “What happened to the kids?” Everyone turn towards him, perplexed. He clears his throat and takes the melted ice pack away. “There must have been little first or second cousins kicking around, right? What happened to 'em?” 

Surely they weren't locked away too, but then, he thought he's known people before- and that had cost him more than his arm. 

“Taeko and I have no siblings,” Sojiro replies after a pause, eyes cast down. “My uncles' children and grandchildren were adults by then, and as complicit in the attack as their parents.” He accepts the shot Hanzo floats to him, swishing it around instead of drinking. “The only little ones belonged to mistresses- none of them were witches, they were as blindsided as we were. Those children have grown up in peace with their mothers. We pay for their schooling and keep our distance.” 

“Except-” Genji's eyes glow fiercely, his head snapping towards his father. “Asahi.” 

Sojiro's eyes widen. “He drowned, we found his shoes in the river.” 

“But no body,” Hanzo chimes in, fist curled at his mouth, sparing a glance at Jesse. “He saw his father being taken away and ran off in a fit. He had some magic in him, and he would be a man by now...” 

“Oh- I hope it isn't him. His poor mother has suffered enough.” Taeko knits her eyebrows in distaste. “She's Genji's age, for heaven's sake.” 

Sojiro's expression turns crestfallen. “If it is- I could never forgive myself, a child-” 

“If it's his doing, we'll stay like this.” Genji's lips tug into a bittersweet smile before Zen's voice sounds again. “We're in agreement on that.” 

Sojiro's expression sours, the tension back in his voice. “You cannot just-” 

Taeko quietly reaches over and takes her husband's hand, long fingers wrapping around his thick ones and holding tight. “Speculation won't get us any further tonight. The sun will be up in a few hours and we all need to rest.” 

Sojiro nods and stands carefully, helping his wife up as he goes. “Leave your clothes in the salt vats in case there's something attached to them. Hopefully that thing will lick its wounds until after breakfast.” 

Hanzo quietly requests a moment alone when they reach his rooms and Jesse obliges. He wanders through the labyrinthine halls, cigarillo in hand, thoughts coming thick and stinging. He finds a door facing the back fields, then notices Taeko and Sojiro sitting on the edge of the veranda, quilts wrapped around them, Sojiro's head on her shoulder and his arm around her waist. 

Jesse attempts the quietest one-eighty of his life, already tip-toeing away when Taeko says “It's alright, he's asleep. Come, sit.” 

Not one to argue with the lady of the house, he takes a seat, cold seeping through his trousers as his legs dangle over the edge. He glances towards her while lighting the cigarillo off his pointer finger. She takes a long drag from her cigarette while her husband dozes against her arm. Face scrubbed bare of makeup, eyes gone red and reamy. “You were on the old Blackwatch Council, correct?” 

Jesse's eyes flick back to his smoke. Sojiro's dragon is nowhere to be seen, but Taeko's little guys sit at attention beside his knee, staring up as if assessing him. “Genji tell ya about that?” 

“No,” Taeko grins weakly, tapping her ashes into the snow. “Did you ever encounter anything like this?” 

Jesse's mind returns to the pacing black smoke that he once called Gabe, but the connection is tenuous at best. “Afraid not, ma'am.” 

She sighs, worry writ in the lines of her face. Her dragons curl in her lap, much like housecats. Jesse feels the ache of the unknown with her, frustrated and spinning in place once again. Her smoke uncurls like a grey ribbon, catching Jesse's attention as it seems to unravel in the air. “It's an enenra, keeps the more irksome spirits at bay.” 

“Oh, very nice,” Jesse hums, inhaling his own smoke and exhaling a large cloud. “This here's just tobacco, but it's a special variety. I have to send for it by the crate from a place in Red River, doesn't grow anywhere else. Things have a tendency to get stuck to me without it.” 

“Ah, I see. Have any of the spirits here given you trouble? I have some wards if you need them.” 

“Nah, haven't seen any really,” Jesse wets his chapped lips, letting the cigarillo dangle from his metal fingers. “'Cept that little girl and her friend in the room with all the toys. What is she?” 

“A zashiki-warashi, she protects the house. You must be quite sensitive then,” Taeko raises her eyebrows, lips pursing. “Though I was not aware we'd gained another one, how odd. I'll have to start leaving more food out.” A distant smile overtakes the pensive look in her eyes. “Perhaps she's gotten lonely. She had great fun playing with the boys when they were small, they were so sweet then. I don't know if they can even see her, now.” 

Jesse hears the pang in her voice but doesn't attempt sympathy. He's been through hell enough but knows better than to pretend to understand someone else's losses. He switches to the formal accent he'd learned from Hanzo and not at all from Genji. “[Forgive me if this is an indelicate question, but why wasn't the clan executed back then? Reasons against it seem to be lacking.]” 

Taeko huffs a sigh, one corner of her lips twitching up. “I made the decision. I thought that since the four of us would live with the consequences for the rest of our lives, so should they.” She takes another drag, embers burning bright. “In truth, Sojiro was still bedridden and as an outsider, I felt unqualified to order the deaths of his entire family. Perhaps that was my mistake.” 

Taeko laughs then, in dry disbelief and absurdity that Jesse knows all too well. It startles Sojiro into bleary consciousness and she immediately presses her thin fingers to his cheek. “It's nothing, go back to sleep.” 

Sojiro mumbles wordlessly and does, softly snoring almost instantly. Jesse chuckles to himself, catching Taeko's questioning eye. He shrugs and gestures vaguely towards them, choosing his words carefully. “Nothin', just- Hanzo does the exact same thing when he's dead tired.” 

The light reaches Taeko's eyes when she grins. “Does he really? How adorable.” 

*** 

Hanzo sucks in air through his nose and stands on shaky legs. He had barely laid his head down before the contents of his stomach sounded the alarm. He does his best to rinse the bile taste from his mouth with the basin water, though his throat burns harshly. His dragons chatter softly on his shoulders, but he brushes them away. “I'm fine.” 

He steps out and into his house slippers, finding Jesse waiting with a cup in his hand. Hanzo accepts the drink but avoids his eyes, hurrying past. “I'll only be a few minutes.” 

“Alright,” Jesse says to his retreating back, in a tone that implies they will be talking about this later, whether he wants to or not. For now, Hanzo escapes to the courtyard, the chilled air easing the throb in his temples. He takes tentative sips of water, leaning against a post while his dragons leap from one icicle to the next. 

The movements of Genji's body when Zenyatta took over had nearly made him sick right then. It was so- mechanical. Zen's vessel moves more naturally than that, but then, Hanzo supposes he's used to it. Of course he didn't know how to maneuver a human body, especially one he seems to have only partial control over. Zenyatta is the very definition of benevolence, there is nothing to fear in that regard, and yet- 

Is that what his body looked like, bearing down on Genji with the sword? It had felt that way, his movements detached and too deliberate- as if it wasn't a nightmarish vision enough already. All the talk of putting away the past seems trite to him now. Once again, the clan has set upon them, and once again Genji is the greatest casualty. 

He rubs a hand over his face, selfishly longing for the peace he'd felt recently, however illusionary it might have been. This can only end in death, though it will shatter centuries of Hanamura's trust in them. Jailing the clan and the temporary disappearance of Genji had nearly done that already. Hanzo resigns himself, all he can hope is that his brother and Zenyatta will be returned to normal. 

“Anija?” 

Hanzo twitches, water spilling down his front. “Don't sneak up on me.” 

“I've been standing here for five minutes, going deaf in your old age?” Genji sidles up and prods his arm. He elbows him back, but keeps his sights on the snowy garden, the weight of glowing eyes upon him. Were his eyes glass like Zenyatta's? Had he blinded his own brother?- “Are you alright?” 

“That's my line.” 

“Ha ha,” Genji returns dryly. “But in all seriousness, you look pale. Don't worry, we'll be able to handle it. Whatever it is, we've faced worse-” 

“What the hell are you reassuring me for?” Hanzo snarls, winter air stinging his lungs. “You could have died, and now you've got Zenyatta's soul trapped in your body- How can you pretend to be so calm?” 

“I'm not pretending,” Genji answers plainly, folding his arms and pulling Zenyatta's shawl tighter around him. “I mean, getting attacked was terrifying, of course. But having Zenyatta here-” He touches his chest lightly. “I can't describe it, but I feel very safe.” 

Hanzo finally looks back and notices Zenyatta's orbs circling slowly and ceaselessly around him, his dragon happily riding on one, and his expression draws tight. “Is it not upsetting for someone else to have access to your innermost thoughts?” Hanzo swallows, his pulse picking up in his throat. “Though, I guess you can't really answer that honestly at the moment.” 

Genji clicks his tongue, scratching his jaw where golden-lit stone becomes stubbly flesh. “It's not like that. We sort of have to- push our thoughts towards each other to communicate.” Genji taps his chin quizzically. “Maybe because he's only possessing part of my body? He can feel everything I'm feeling, though. He thinks digestion is 'highly overrated.'” 

Hanzo scoffs while his brother laughs, sagging against the post. His wooden joints begin to ache, shrinking minutely with the cold. He ought to head inside, but inside means sleep. Sleep means morning, and morning means facing the possibility of failure. Of this tasteless joke turning into an enduring reality. 

“Hey.” A gentle hand on his shoulder. “I can laugh about it, but I know what this is bringing back for you, for Kaa-san and Tou-san, as well. You have every right to be angry. But you can't let it blind you to-” 

“Don't presume so much,” Hanzo snaps, jerking away from the touch. “And don't insult me by acting like you know what's going to happen or what I'm thinking, Zenyatta is no prophet and neither are you.” 

The snow around them mutes everything to uncomfortable silence. He expects a quick retort, but instead hears a self-conscious chuckle. “Ah, that's fair, I suppose. Still,” Genji steps in front of him, forcing their eyes to meet. The wires are still bent on his glasses, tilting the lenses and magnifying the glow of his eyes. “Resentment and silence were their inroads to us last time. Whether the clan is behind this or not, we cannot become so consumed again that we turn away from each other.” 

Hanzo stills, working his jaw a few times before he can speak. “I don't like it when you're right.” 

Genji laughs, familiar and teasing. “I can't take credit for that one. Zenyatta has spent many years teaching me that guilt is meant to provoke empathy, not isolation. I'm still learning.” He folds his arms, looking up at the sky. “You shouldn't keep Jesse waiting, he told me he doesn't sleep as well without you.” 

“No, he didn't.” 

“He was _very_ drunk, I learned more about you than I care to remember.” 

Hanzo snorts and polishes off his water, turning away. “Go to bed, Genji.” 

“Alright,” Genji sighs, a smirk in it. Hanzo almost resumes his musing when he's pulled in by strong arms and gets a faceful of faintly greying hair. He flinches, making Genji snicker. “Don't worry, this is all me.” 

“I'm hardly afraid of a hug from Zenyatta,” Hanzo grumbles, muffled against his shoulder. At once, six golden arms appear from his sides, wrapping snugly around Hanzo's middle in that there-but-not sensation his dragons provide when wrapped around his arms or ankles. “I asked for this, didn't I?” 

Genji just laughs at him again, and Hanzo returns the embrace weakly. He had once depended on his brother's smile more than anything else in the world, but he had already learned even that could not be promised. He would not fool himself again. 

In the morning, their father gives a spectacular performance of the one-man play All is Well while packing up some food for the innkeeper and her family and politely ushering them out the door. Stocking up on supplies and wards is no trouble, they've always prepared for the worst to some degree. The issue of what to do with Zenyatta's empty vessel is more complicated. Genji spends nearly half his energy sealing it in the cellar with protective wards and charms, even though Sojiro is outside covering the walls of the castle with the same. The source of his concern being that should anything happen to Zenyatta's own seal hidden somewhere within his crafted frame, he won't be able to return to his body. 

“Forgive me if this is too forward,” Sojiro asks as they bundle up, finding the balance between warmth and practicality. “But can Omnics- die?” 

“Well, from our own perspective, all spirits are immortal regardless of the form they take,” Zenyatta answers, stroking Genji's chin in his usual Not-Genji manner. “But in the interest of not debating semantics- yes. Without a physical body as an anchor, I would cease to perceive time as physical beings do. The lives of those around me would slip through my fingers like sand.” Zenyatta-Genji clenches his fists tight, almost reflexively. “I'm not ready for that yet. I've spent a mere twenty-one years in this world, I want to spend as much time with Genji and my human friends as I can.” 

Genji's ears flush, seemingly not by Zenyatta's volition, and he makes a show of breathing on his glasses and polishing them on his shirt. Hanzo catches himself smirking while his mother purses her lips. “How old would you consider yourself, Zenyatta-san?”

“I suppose it all depends on how you count,” Zenyatta's voice returns, notes of amusement in its echo. “Why do you ask?” 

“I'm wondering which one of you I should throttle, that's all.” 

Zenyatta's presence dissipates in the twist of Genji's exasperated frown. “You know, I'm getting pretty sick of your backchat, Taeko.” 

She grins, almost gloating, and yanks on his cheek with little care for Zen feeling it too. Hanzo misses Genji's escape as a scarf is quickly tied around his neck. Jesse smiles, an endearing glimpse of teeth before murmuring “Don't want ya catchin' your death of cold out there, darlin'.” 

Broomsticks offer a safer vantage point of the creature's path, a well-maintained barrier keeping the snow and wind out and their scents in. Jesse flies alone while their parents ride behind them, though judging by the fingers subtly digging into Hanzo's back, his mother is more tolerant of their altitude. 

They find the trees felled in the attack, a scar that narrows into a weaving, almost drunken path carved by the beast's retreat. It disappears into one of the wide-based mountains that line Hanamura's farthest borders. Thankfully no curious villagers are about. The weather, holiday, and general assumption by the locals that anything magical will be handled or overseen by the Shimadas are in their favour. Collateral damage is more than their consciences can bear. 

Hanzo worries they've lost the thing completely, though there's no sign of a portal anywhere. “Is it inside the mountain? There's no caves big enough for it.” 

“One way to find out,” Genji replies, pulling his glove off with his teeth and calling up green lightning into his palm. Sufficiently amassed, they part the barrier long enough for him to lob it against the rock face. In a blink, the greyish-greenish mass slips out from a crack, much like a salamander. Flicking its vague head this way and that, visibly agitated or perhaps simply hungry. It bloats to full size, not appearing scarred or weakened from the previous day. 

“There is something inside it,” Zenyatta states clearly, Genji's posture gone rigid and his eyes seeming to glow brighter despite the harsh light of day. “It has a heart in its centre- we ought to aim for that. But there's something else- something- alive, as far as I can see.” 

“Is it Asahi?” Hanzo tries to sit up straighter on the crowded broom. The creature below paces, still looking for the source of the attack. “Or just a snack it's saving for later?” 

Genji-Zen shakes his head minutely. “I cannot tell.” 

“More importantly, how do we kill it without harming whoever is in there?” Sojiro's voice is tense and gruff over Hanzo's shoulder. 

“You said it has a heart?” Taeko hums as they consider the problem with both hesitation and vitriol. “Given that it survived lightning and a pine through its side, I have a potentially dangerous idea.” 

“Those are my favourite kind,” Jesse chimes in, and Hanzo smiles tightly, equal parts fear and determination coursing through him. 

Barriers are held fast as they separate. Taeko and Genji on either side, a football pitch of distance between them. Sojiro behind the creature as it seems to sniff, desperately seeking whatever scent it can catch, though it lacks any features besides its cord-like limbs, gaping maw, and white eyes. Hanzo and Jesse stand in front, spells at the ready. All of them circle slowly, trying to get it centred between them, patience strained as they fear for it making a dash back to its crevice. That persistent, scribbling sound echoes through the trees as it blindly seeks them. 

After long minutes of drawn weapons and tense jaws, roots finally shoot out from either side, looping around the creature's ambiguous middle like a belt. It rears, crying out as its legs struggle above the ever-tightening ropes of wood. Sojiro's dragon strikes it from behind, to stun and distract while Jesse finds a clear spot to weave fire in the air. He locks eyes with Hanzo before he lets it go, eyes dark and hazy in the heat. “Ready?” 

Hanzo nods, his dragons swirling in the black cloud they've gathered above. When fire blankets the writhing, suppurating thing, Hanzo lets the rain go in a torrent. Snow melts to ashen slush all around and the smoke is thick, nauseating, similar to charred fat. They end up breathing through scarf and serape, wet fibres caught on their front teeth as they try not to gag. The beast's cry turns high, pained, like a clueless musician sawing away on a violin. 

The careful balance leaves Hanzo sweating with concentration. Bring the water down too strong and they will simply have a wet and pissed-off beast. Ease up too much and the fire could spread deep and burn the person within the mass. An urge roils within him to simply drop his hands, let it all burn away and end this, punish anyone who would dare harm them again. But he resists, with no small effort. The light of the flames lets them see a few black shapes as green chunks curl and crumble into soot. Jesse needs no instruction to burn towards the smaller one towards the front, though the thing starts regrowing where the fire and rain recede. 

The heart is exposed at last, a sticky, black geode pulsing dimly purple. An arrow knocks it from its body with a popping noise while they try to hold back the stringy bits of the creature reaching for it until Genji's sword slices in two. 

At once, the remaining mass dissolves with a final gurgle, leaving a pus-like stain that mats in the surrounding branches and leaches into the mud. The heart halves shrivel up like an aged walnut, swallowed quickly by Sojiro's dragon. Amidst the mess, in the grey light of a cloudy winter afternoon, lies a near-feral-looking child of about seven. Hair overgrown, clothes bedraggled, and body distressingly thin. 

A speechlessness comes over them all, during which the child seems to shake themselves off and become aware of their surroundings. Fear widens their eyes and anger reddens their cheeks. The boy tosses clumsy defensive spells at them that should sting, but land as mosquito bites against their legs as he shouts in a broken voice. “Get away from me! I'll make you pay for what you did, you monsters! Go _away!_ ” 

His magic clearly useless, he tries to scrabble away on toothpick limbs, still shouting garbled hatred. Genji-Zenyatta sends an orb after him, easily capturing the small child in a bubble of Harmony and floating him back to them. The boy- Asahi beats violently against his golden cage, but cannot sustain it in his weakened state and collapses into the fetal position, shaking and fiercely covering his head with his arms. 

“He hasn't aged a day,” Sojiro breathes as they gawk at the pitiful display. “How can this be?” 

“There are stories much like this recorded in the Shambali library, though I always took them for fiction.” Zenyatta answers, gesturing rigidly with the hand that isn't maintaining the bubble. “Parasitic spirits that latch onto hatred, sustaining themselves on their host's life force much like a tumour. They can live for years, often underground, and in their drained state the host believes that they're still in control.” He shakes Genji's head woefully. “He would not have survived so long were he not of the Shimada line. Though a child's grudge can be intense, a non-magical child would have surely died by now.” 

“Will he live?” Taeko asks, a wretched ache in her voice as she rests her hand on the bubble. Asahi seems to notice and draw further in on himself. “That he's lived like this for so long...” 

“He will need skilled healers, but if he is alive now, there is hope.” A promising, if wearied smile before Genji's voice returns, determined and rough. “We should summon the Overwatch Council, this might well be Angela's first case of the year.” 

“We should take him to his mother first,” Sojiro interjects, sharing a nod with his younger son, his eyes creased with pain. “I always expected my father's kin to return as onryō, but not one of their living children. Not like this.” 

“What about the seal?” Hanzo addresses his brother with too much urgency. He has not a drop of desire to kill a child, but the thought of Genji condemned to a puppeted existence- 

His brother touches his chest and appears relieved. “The spell is broken. We'll deal with it at home.” 

Sojiro hurries off to send for help while the rest of them take the long way to Asahi's old house, not much wanting to explain themselves to any passerby. They walk in heavy silence, though Jesse taps gently on the bubble and lightly waves when the boy looks up, only for him to curl tightly up again. He huffs a sigh into the freezing air. “Still doesn't answer a lot of why's and how's.” 

Hanzo grunts in agreement while Genji thinks, or perhaps confers silently with Zenyatta. “While it was the creature that cast the seal, it was pulling on Asahi's ideas and feelings. Our family never used to be overly kind to Omnics. Perhaps the plan was to swap our spirits entirely, to punish me. That seems the sort of thing a child would come up with.” 

“Who knows what was planned for the rest of us,” Taeko adds, walking ahead, hat brim drooping over her eyes. “Who knows how long it was watching us.” 

Hanzo's mind swims with guilt, exhaustion, relief- too much, it nearly overflows. His dragons perch on his forearm as Genji and their mother's do the same, and he strokes them, whispering gratitude as they trill back. He keeps glancing at the sickly child floating between them, so weak and yet he still balls his fists in innocent rage. He couldn't have been much older when he felt his first flickers of genuine bitterness towards what he saw as his spoiled and selfish younger brother, his mind simple and ripe for poisoning by the adults who played chess with their future. 

The woman who answers the door of the modest house is confused and a little bashful, a cloth tied over her hair and a smock covering her clothes, fan in hand as the stone stove burns and pops behind her. Hanzo has never actually met her before, and finds her uncommonly pretty, though her eyes seem twice older than her. Taeko performs a polite smile and a small bow, doing her best to square her broad shoulders and subtly block the view. “Please forgive us for disturbing you, Ichikawa-san. I have some news that may come as a shock.” 

“I heard noises from the forest this morning, is everything alright-” She leans around her, intrigued by the stained and solemn crowd. Her hands fly to her mouth and her eyes fill with tears. “Oh gods, is that my- Is he-” 

Genji gently lowers the bubble, drawing it away to show that he's not dead, though he shivers in the cold. His fighting spirit seems to melt away when he looks up through his tangled hair and bleats. “Kaa-san?” 

Ichikawa-san cries out, her son's name barely recognizable in her sobs. She falls to her knees in the snow and rocks him, temporarily unquestioning in the grip of her love and agony. A girl of twelve or thirteen appears, eyes wide with concern. “What's going on-” The scene stops her mid-step, her mouth hanging open until she sobs. “Anija? I knew you'd come back-!” 

That twists the knife in Hanzo's chest and he has to look away before he joins the hysterics. Jesse's leather-covered hand rubs at his lower back, firm circles that promise a shared drink and a soft place to lay his head later on. It reminds him of how his father silently reaches for his mother after a long day, their unobtrusive bond something he's aspired to all his life. 

They gently guide the reunited family inside before they get frostbite. Hanzo busies himself with finishing their dinner so that it doesn't burn, Jesse sitting on the steps beside him and passing requested utensils. Taeko keeps her explanations brief while Asahi clings to his mother and his sister to him. The healers from the Watchpoint at Okinawa arrive from the nearest leyline stone. They help the women gather small suitcases of essentials and close up the house before the reunited family is whisked away, leaving them standing in silence on the road outside. 

“What will happen to him, when the healers are done?” Hanzo wonders out loud as the wind blows large flakes into their eyelashes. 

“He'll get to grow up, I hope,” Taeko replies, her tone as steadfast as it is hurt. 

Dinner is postponed as they make a grand effort to remove the wards from Genji's chest and Zenyatta's vessel. Though the wards are blackened and curl at the edges as if burnt, they will not come off for anything and Zenyatta's exit attempts are in vain. He admits, with no shame but some regret, that while the Shambali had once made themselves known for their skill at removing such seals, he had not been present for such a ritual during his time with them. “Persistence may win out eventually, but I don't suppose anyone fancies a trip to Nepal?” 

Hanzo wakes before dawn and relishes the opportunity to lay under the covers with Jesse, combing his fingers through soft chestnut hair and whispering blissful nothings. To his surprise, he's presented with a package tugged from Jesse's bag. A purchase from the antique bookshop in Gibraltar, the translated memoir of an alchemy-minded witch who travelled the Silk Road during the time of Kublai Khan. Jesse kisses well-wishes below his ear and Hanzo ought to thank him, ought to express how much he appreciates such kindness, but instead he lets his foolish mouth fall open. “There are more important things to worry about today.” 

Jesse, being Jesse, only chuckles and pulls him in tighter, his chest unfairly warm in the frigid morning air. “It's still your birthday, sugar. 'Sides, don't want it getting wrecked in the mountains. Genji went halves on it with me and I'd never hear the end of it.” 

Hanzo looks up, accepting a gentle smooch to the bump in his nose. His freckles are slightly faded for the winter, his pretty eyes not seeking reward or even praise. That he would think of such a generous gift while being nightly tormented by his own resurfaced demons, that Hanzo would come first in his mind, even for a moment- He holds the fragile book tightly to his chest, as if it is too large and in need of containment. He takes Jesse's chin and presses a tender, smacking kiss against his whiskery cheek. “Thank you, I'll take good care of it.” 

Following the arrival of Yukiko, an old friend of Taeko's charged with looking after the house and any local magical emergencies in their absence, the snow prompts them to leave by leyline. Night falls before they arrive in the Himalayas, Jesse's constantly recharged enchantments barely keeping their fingers and toes from stinging. Emerging from the steep staircase scored into the mountainside, the walls of the grand monastery buffet the wind somewhat, letting them open their watering eyes as several Omnics peer out at them from the high windows. 

One emerges as the torches lining the path alight in sequence, hands folded behind in his back. He resembles Zenyatta greatly in the sculpt of his face and the sharp lines of his body beneath his white finely-patterned robes, though he walks on bare silver feet instead of floating as Zen prefers. The only Omnic to have fallen and returned to Earth of his own will. 

His smile is somewhat serious, though fond as he shakes his head. “This is the exact sort of trouble I asked you to stay out of when you left us, brother.” 

Zenyatta's merry giggle rings from Genji's throat, his vessel cradled carefully in Genji's arms. “I thought you would be pleased to find my contrary nature unchanged.” 

The remaining monks flood out to meet them, swarming and floating like fireflies. If they are disturbed by Genji and Zen's predicament, they do not show it. They greet him as their own, with embraces and overlapping words, one stout one tossing him in the air when Mondatta takes up Zenyatta's body. Their forms vary greatly, some faceless, crafted by witches for silent jobs, some so human-like as to be eerie. Hanzo feels his parents subtly draw tighter together. Strangers in a strange land, as the saying goes. Though the Shambali have beckoned peace into a broken world, many of them bear scars of magical mistreatment. A cold shoulder or twenty would be understandable. 

They are not hugged, but greeted with genuine politeness and led to the inner rooms of the safe haven. They kneel on cushions provided by an Omnic whose middle folds up like a rope ladder beneath their apricot sashes. Several others work at removing the seal on Zenyatta's forehead, filling in the missing silver with something similarly metallic melted in a brazier beside them. All the while, Genji tells the tale to Mondatta in his own voice, receiving kindly fascination in return. Hanzo's gaze keeps catching on Zenyatta's limp body. Jesse wears a guarded, resigned sort of expression that he recognizes as the fatigue of having seen too much in Angela and Angelo's infirmary. 

Genji sends Zenyatta's orbs back to his body and obeys when the Omnics wave him over. An exceptionally well-made one, with traces of gold and platinum where bronze and steel have taken their place and a face even more soft and expressive than Zen's or Mondatta's, helps him lay down after he slips out of his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. He makes some comment to her in Nepali that earns him a faintly amused frown and a firm tap on the forehead with two of her fingers. 

Mondatta engages them in banalities while the analgesic is applied to Genji's chest. Moments later a broad Omnic kneels at his side, blocking their view while many hands work. Small blades come away red and Genji doesn't so much as flinch, even when the brazier is brought over. Slightly prescient, Mondatta reassures. “The metal is very thin, it keeps the wound clean and keeps all traces of the seal out so that it cannot return. It will wear away as he heals.” 

Their parents nod anxiously, unconsciously in sync. How Hanzo regrets not being even slightly faster two nights prior. If only Genji could be spared more healing and his parents their worry. Was this truly the end? Would Ichikawa-san grow to blame them and seek her own revenge? Would they ever be able to move on, and live as normal people do? 

The remnants of the seal are taken away to be salted and burned. The tallest Omnic cleans balm and smears of blood from Genji's chest, which Hanzo's jaw tenses at, even though Genji has come away with much worse from hexes and beasts and even obnoxious fairies. The broad one sits back on their heels and speaks in a soft, susurrus voice. “Try it now, brother.” 

After a second or two, Zenyatta's spirit lifts from Genji's body, casting the room into long shadows as his form curves along the ceiling. He dives back into his vessel as Genji finds his feet, racing to his master's side. The moment drags out, solidifying the fear that his seal had been damaged and rendered unusable. Then the glow seeps through his seams, eyes popping open and shining with life as he sits up cautiously, one hand in Genji's and the other holding his pale temple as though dizzy. “Are you alright, Zenyatta?” 

“Quite,” Zen replies, his orbs rising once more and circling around the two. He looks up with such unabashed adoration and reaches for Genji's face, cradling his cheeks with his fingertips as though he were something fragile and precious. “I must say, I definitely prefer seeing you from this angle.” 

Genji beams though his ears redden again, and they push their foreheads together, oblivious to their surroundings. Hanzo catches his parents giving each other a Look and would share an eyeroll with Jesse were he not so thoroughly relieved. Mondatta chuckles affectionately beside them, hand curled thoughtfully under his chin. “How lucky we are to count Zenyatta among us. He's the only Omnic I'm aware of that knows something of what it's like to be human.” 

Though far from home, the holiday atmosphere returns as they decide to rest in the room offered to them. A toast is questionably disrespectful, but Taeko finds some sweets in the pantry of food kept for visitors from the nearest villages. Their quiet reverie is only disrupted by the arrival of Sita, a monk with a permanent smile and enough arms to match her true form, as well as the refurbished Omnic from earlier, called Ditya by Genji and Zen. 

“Do you think you'll need more firewood?” Sita passes an excess of patchwork blankets around with fluid motions of her arms, the echo of her voice almost youthful. “Humans are so terribly susceptible to the cold, we don't want any of you catching hypothermia.” 

“Don't talk about them as if they aren't here, it's rude,” Ditya chides gently, handing Zenyatta a new pair of loose orange trousers that he had not requested but still gladly receives. 

“Ah, please forgive me,” Sita clasps her topmost hands together. “I'm just so excited to finally meet Genji's family! We've heard a great deal about you, I feel as though I already- oh!” Genji's dragon leaps from his arm, dashing up Sita's tangerine skirts to rest in her cupped palms. “There you are, didii! I have missed you as well!” 

“Please don't hesitate to ask us for anything, you are more than welcome here.” Ditya intones as Sita pivots happily, balanced on one foot pointed in the air, her vessel ringing softly as if decorated with bells. Ditya's glassy brown gaze turns from warm to suspicious it lands on Genji and Jesse. “So long as certain individuals and their accomplices don't cause trouble.” 

Jesse leans in towards his friend, elbowing him hard. “Just what kinda rumours have you been spreadin' about me, hm?” 

Genji's smile is all teeth. “Nothing that isn't true and recorded in Morrison's catalogues in great detail.” 

Ditya ruffles Genji's hair in an oddly maternal gesture before they depart, Sita casting a longing, curious look at the dragons curled in balls around the fire. Their father and mother burrow against each other beneath the covers. Zenyatta enters his nightly trance, Genji cozied to his side with their hands intertwined atop his chest. Hanzo leans on his elbow, silently observing for a while before Jesse snuffles and pulls him closer. He drops a kiss to dry lips and lets himself rest. 

In the morning, Genji and Zenyatta are already gone. Hanzo sluggishly extracts himself from his bedroll and makes tea. Jesse rouses soon after and stumbles to the window, cracking it open to smoke. His mother helps his father sit up, accepting a discreet kiss before joining Jesse at the window and combing out the braid that Sojiro fixes for her every night. 

Genji reappears with Zen in tow, floating in plates of tarkari and not hiding their furtive smiles well. Hanzo eyes his brother meaningfully but Genji keeps dodging, rambling about how it wasn't until he came here that he learned how to cook anything edible, so any compliments should really be directed to Shambali and the more patient residents from the nearby village. 

He waits until plates are cleared to sit up straight and rest his hands on the table. “Zenyatta and I have something to tell all of you.” 

Everyone's interest is piqued, but he scarcely opens his mouth than a slender, pale yellow dragon slips from Zenyatta's blue-striped sweater cuff onto the table, staring up at them with great curiosity. All the dragons leave their perches and ink dwellings to greet, inspect, and scent the new addition, except Genji's, who sits preening on his forearm. Zenyatta modestly rolls back his sleeve, revealing a golden tattoo etched into the silver of his left arm. 

Sojiro is the first to speak. “Well, someone owes me five hundred yen.” 

Taeko glares at him, nearly withering. “Really?” 

“As you can see, we've had a lot of time to talk over the past few days,” Genji continues, elated and fearless. “Zenyatta and I want to get married. We've considered it for some time, but we want to do it while we're still here, so his family can be a part of it. I already asked for Mondatta's blessing this morning.” 

“He was so polite about it, you would have been very impressed.” Zenyatta chuckles, the dots on his forehead glowing persistently bright. 

“Hey, we talked about not embarrassing me,” Genji jokes, though there's a rarely-seen shyness in his deep eyes. He reaches for his lover's hand, clasping it with such care. “We wanted to ask for yours too, of course.” 

Their parents have yet another conversation with their eyes, and Taeko sets her tea down. “I haven't known Zenyatta long enough to judge his character for myself, however-” she smirks then, a proud glint in her eyes. “I trust my son's judgment. The time you have spent together speaks for itself. What do you think, Sojiro?” 

“How could I object?” Sojiro's lips curve on a rich smile, one that hints at the movie-star good looks of his youth. “You've taken almost better care of our son than we have. We would be more than happy to welcome you into our family.” 

The four of them bow to each other, Genji and Zenyatta practically radiant while Hanzo reels. He's still processing everything when his brother touches his arm. “What about you, Hanzo? Do you mind getting an Omnic brother-in-law as a birthday gift?” 

“As if I would,” Hanzo scoffs, realizes that his face has been blank out of surprise and purposefully smiles to show his actual feelings. “It's not like my opinion counts for anything, anyway.” 

Genji zaps him gently while Jesse laughs, rich and warm. “You realize you're gonna get whupped one good when we get back? Lena and Reinhardt'll be first in line when they find out they missed your wedding.” 

“All the more reason for them to throw us a party,” Genji grins, squeezing Zen's fingers tight, energy brimming and bubbling over as he stands. “Let's get started, then. I don't want to wait any longer.” 

There are no gifts, at least for now. There are flowers, illusions spun to decorate the sanctuary and real ones coaxed from seeds to drape around the grooms' necks along with grass malas. There is rice to throw. There is a script to follow. Hanzo is unclear as to whether the Shambali have hosted a wedding before, but they certainly seem eager as they rush to and fro through the monastery. Jesse leaves with a few to purchase supplies for the feast, small though it might be. Genji and Zen are kindly kidnapped by Taeko and Mondatta, leaving Sojiro and Hanzo to get themselves ready. 

Hanzo is scrubbing tooth powder over his molars when he hears his father curse in pain. He spits quickly out the window into the crevasse below. “Tou-san, are you alright?” The slow, secretive poisoning by the clan had left him with periodic ailments that could be more than merely troublesome. 

“Fine, I'm fine. I think it's the altitude, or else that bed,” Sojiro replies from behind the screen, followed by an unpleasant crack and a grunt. “Getting old is such a bother.” 

Hanzo smirks and turns to swish water. “Tell me about it.” 

“None of that. You're not allowed to call yourself old.” 

Another spit. “Why not?” 

“Because you're my child, and if you're old, then I'm _very_ old. I'm not ready for that yet.” Their laughter is light and easy. Sojiro emerges, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders, pausing to give Hanzo the once-over. “That's not really what you're wearing, is it?” 

“Why? What's wrong with it?” Hanzo presses his lips together. They're the same black patterned robes he wears to Council meetings and lived-to-fight-another-day dinners with Jesse. Genji asked for simple and Hanzo is obliging that request. 

“Well, for one- hm,” Sojiro looks away, scratching at his silver beard. “Maybe I shouldn't say.” 

“What is it?” Hanzo asks too quickly. 

“Ah, I suppose he'll tell you soon enough. Your brother said that he and Zenyatta intend to adopt a child once the Talon business is sorted, when it's safer.” He looks back at Hanzo with a borderline haughty smile. “We don't want anyone looking at the wedding photos and saying 'There's my great-great-uncle Hanzo, poor man didn't know how to dress himself,' right? Take something from my bag.” 

He grabs his tie and turns to the small mirror hanging on the wall while Hanzo sighs and sheds his robes. The years have left him less inclined to carry half his wardrobe with him at all times, prodigal aristocrat that he is. He roots through his father's seemingly infinite pack, taking out a deep blue kimono that will hopefully pass muster, when a thought occurs to him. 

“Does it bother you?” Sojiro hums questioningly in reply, not one to be disturbed mid-double Windsor. Hanzo pauses, running his thumbs over the silk. “The breaking of a thousand-year line, it sounds nearly prophetic.” Eldest son to eldest son, he swears the words were inscribed on his tongue at birth. 

“Oh, gods no. I never believed in that.” Sojiro snaps his fingers, a jolt of electricity drawing all the lint off his slacks. “As if it would be so impossible to erase records of a deposed heir, or to ignore some unfortunate young woman passing off a lover's child as a Shimada, so long as the dragons followed.” He smooths out his collar, his dragon retreating into the ink peeping out at his wrist. “Of all the lies I sold you two on, that's the least of them, I think.” 

Hanzo's chest tightens as he continues dressing, the air in the room turned heavy. He tries a skill taught in small, consistent doses by a man with cowboy boots and a wand at his belt. “So I'm off the hook for grandchildren, then? Or was I even on the hook in the first place?” 

Sojiro barks a laugh, fixing his gold cuff-links as methodically as he strings his bow. “Hardly, you've never been comfortable around children. Which is odd, since you still think like one sometimes.” 

Hanzo takes the jab in stride, knowing from memories of his grandparents that he should be grateful Sojiro knows how to be a father at all. The older man smiles softer and continues, eagerly shrugging on his jacket. “It will be nice to have a full house again, but to be honest, so long as you two are looked after, I'm content.” He dons his hat, fixing the brim with a refined touch. “This year, Genji. Next year, you. Right?” 

Hanzo stalls out, failing on a proper answer. “You must be joking.” 

“Of course not,” Sojiro looks back, forehead wrinkles deepening in concern. “Ah, you didn't take my comment to heart, did you? About him being a bakemono trying to imitate an American? I was only kidding.” 

“I knew that,” Hanzo bites out, feeling heat rush to his neck. “Just because Genji- I- we didn't come here to _pay respects._ It has been a trying year, and Jesse needed some time away from the Watchpoint-” 

“And I'm expected to believe that you invited him halfway around the world, brought him into our home, and let him sleep in your bed as a good friend?” Sojiro's eyebrow arches magnificently, his arms folded and his entire countenance so imposing as to make his son forget he's an inch taller and forty-odd pounds heavier than him. “Don't patronize me, Hanzo. I'm nowhere near that senile.” 

Hanzo is, embarrassingly, struck completely dumb. He quickly ties back his hair and yanks on his own hat, making for the door. The day has already been too much to process. That a dragon could bond with an Omnic's spirit. That Genji had privately envisioned a life for himself beyond the responsibilities of the Council, beyond Talon's threat, beyond their group at the Rock. That he had let himself grow so numb and complacent as to no longer think beyond the next day- 

“Why are you so flustered?” His father laughs amicably, properly teasing him now. “You're in love, it's a good thing. He seems like a nice young man-” 

“I am not flustered,” Hanzo says over his shoulder, cheeks burning while he fumbles blindly for the door handle. “I just wish you wouldn't say it like that-” 

Genji lifts his hand in half-greeting, half-self-defense when Hanzo flings open the door and nearly plows into him, Taeko and Jesse just behind. He looks terrifically handsome, every inch their father in the portrait in their parents' quarters, though his outfit is more cobbled together. He hugs Hanzo tight to him before they reach the inner temple, whispering in his ear. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I didn't think it was going to happen so soon.” 

“Go get married, you idiot. You're holding everyone up.” Hanzo hugs him back and brushes a kiss over his temple before he can think better of it, because the guilt is in his brother's voice far outweighs the mild hurt he definitely hadn't been feeling earlier. 

The wedding itself seems to go by too quickly, a wash of reds and whites lit by candles and dragonfire because it's fifty below outdoors. At its centre sits the boy who used to wipe his nose on Hanzo's sleeves and the one he called Master, being led in ceremony by an immortal icon of peace and looking at one another as you would expect the sun and the moon to look at each other. Surreality doesn't cover it, but Jesse is steady, crinkly-eyed and smiling beside him and their mother's hand rests on his shoulder until she has to accept a handkerchief from her husband. 

He keeps his own thoughts folded away until the ceremony ends in cheers and sparks and embraces, not wanting to lose the memory to his own selfishness. Jesse offers his cooking skills in lieu of a gift, orchestrating the entire kitchen solely with his magic. Interference would spoil the dishes, but Hanzo is still surprised that his mother doesn't insist on helping with something. He makes the mistake of catching her knowing eye. “You know what vestal witches are made of, don't you, Hanzo?” 

Hanzo braces himself. “I am begging you, please don't-” 

Taeko leans in, stage-whispering behind one hand, hopefully below Jesse's earshot. “ _Husband material._ ” 

Hanzo groans into his hands, sounding like a dying man while she and Genji cackle, Zenyatta giggling in turn with some of the Omnics clustered around him. Sojiro at least sends a sympathetic smile his way. “Tea while you torment our firstborn, Taeko?” 

“Oh, how very kind,” Taeko holds her cup out rather than floating it so that their fingers might brush. He hopes Genji at least gleans the secret to long-lasting marriage from them, which is apparently to never pass up an excuse to hold hands. 

The evening stretches on, the Omnics eager to talk of many things. The hall is filled with heat and generosity and laughter, but Hanzo's thoughts swim up again, drawing his focus away. He excuses himself during a pause in his father's tale of the o'uni, though he hates to miss out. At the far end of a hall, he finds a splendid solarium overlooking the mountainside. Polished and artfully lacking, it must be for meditation, so he does not feel intrusive. 

Kneeling down, he leans back against an enormous pillar and draws a barrier of electricity over himself with barely a flick of his forefinger. It is the simplest spell he knows, taught as a defence in his childhood, used to conceal trysts in his youth, but his favourite purpose has always been this. To seal out all sound and exist with only his thoughts and breath. To be hidden and safe in a way he cannot be around others. His dragons guard him as they always do. Above him, stars dot the bluish ocean of night, the moon a full and compassionate eye casting pale light through the glass. Even within the barrier, every inhale draws a shock of frosty air. 

The relief makes his shoulders drop, though he ought to have outgrown this decades ago. He could while his whole life away like this, but someone always comes to find him, his dragons pawing at his knees when they do. 

“Only wanted to make sure y'were alright, darlin',” Hanzo hears as he lets the electricity fade and scatter. “Need some space?” 

He shakes his head, shifting to one side. “No, I was only thinking.” Jesse makes an agreeable noise and joins him at his side. He was too self-conscious to spend much time admiring Jesse during the feast, all in whites but for his hat and slacks, as dressed up as he could manage on short notice and still so very appealing. Hanzo looks away when their eyes meet. “I must apologize, this has hardly been the relaxing vacation you wanted.” 

Jesse's hearty laugh echoes off the wood and stone, his nose and cheeks ruddy from the chill in the air. “Oh hell, I've had Friday nights at the bar end way worse than this. You got nothin' to be sorry for.” 

Hanzo is unconvinced, directing his attention back upwards, where his dragons dance along the panes. Their normal lives await, back at the Watchpoint, with its endless dangers and mundanities. Reyes' captivity weighs heavy on his mind, the thought of the Doctors of Mercy attending to him and Asahi simultaneously borders on ironic. Players of two stories that seemed without end, determined to be permanent chains on his and Jesse's souls, on those they both call family. 

But- either in rejection of or despite that weight -Genji has dared to be so happy. To love without fear, to start his own family, to work towards and have faith in a future all his own. 

In true brotherly fashion, Hanzo cannot let himself be outdone so easily. His father's words surface in his mind again, stark and unsettling in a most unusual way. It must show, because Jesse bumps shoulders with him. “Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart? Or a nickel, maybe a dime if I can spare it.” 

Hanzo snorts, and at last looks up. There smiles Jesse McCree, his fiercest ally and favourite drinking buddy. His living fire, as effortlessly nourishing and potentially formidable as his magic, beautiful and constant. That he has been patiently at his back all these days, when he has troubles enough of his own- Hanzo draws a ward from his pocket and flicks it towards the doorway. A hurriedly-whispered spell brings up the illusion of a sliding screen. “What's that for- Oh.” 

Jesse's lips taste better than any dessert he's ever indulged in. The heat of his chest seeps into Hanzo's palm through his clothes. Scrapes of beard and nips of teeth stoking a satisfaction better than the rush of his dragons triumphantly returning to him. A broad hand tugs at his hip, and they snicker when their noses bump. A brush of a kiss beneath a pierced ear and Hanzo catches the scent of tobacco and ozone. It's absolutely unreasonable how good this feels, how greedy he is for it, for what might be. 

Jesse breathes into their shared space, eyes turned dark and yearning. “So, a quarter, then?” 

Hanzo laughs, hesitates, but presses their foreheads together anyway. “Jesse, I love you.” 

He is not without his pride, and the momentary awe on Jesse's face swells his chest with it. “Well, ain't that somethin'.” A pair of smiling kisses to his eyes, which Jesse always claims as one of many favourite features of his. “I love you too, honeybee.” 

Hanzo curves his hands to Jesse's thick waist, stroking along his flank in a way that would be ticklish save the wool and linen separating them. He tastes curry and rice pudding on his lips. “I want to bring you back, in the summertime. I want you to see our gardens.” He inhales deeply before continuing. “When we're no longer needed, I want to take you to places the Council has never sent you. I want to take you everywhere.” 

Jesse's expression taints, like a drop of ink in drinking water. “You so sure that day'll ever come?” 

Hanzo pauses, thinks of Hanamura in full bloom, of Genji racing through the tall grasses, of the old paddock being a fine project for a pair of retiring witches. He steels his gaze and speaks with certainty. “No, but it it more than worth fighting for.” 

Jesse, in his subtle, unassuming way, understands. The light in his brown eyes changes again, they kiss once and twice more, curling closer. Concern suddenly quirks the corner of Jesse's mouth. “Er- maybe we should head back-” 

“In a moment,” Hanzo interrupts, holding Jesse fast. They will be mocked either way, he might as well enjoy the tickle of Jesse's loosened hair hanging in his face a little longer. Gods, but he looks handsome in the moonlight. “Tell me where you'll take me, I am curious.” 

Jesse laughs so sweet, a metal thumb fitting itself to Hanzo's chin. “Well, first of all, I'd wager you've never been to Yellowstone...” 

*** 

Sojiro chokes back a hiss of pain. The knuckles digging into the spasming muscles of his spine are effective, but temporarily agonizing. “-I wish you were still small enough to walk on my back.” 

“Well, short of kidnapping one of the Oyama boys, this is the best you're going to get,” Genji jests, hands not ceasing their assault. His tone turns worried and needling. “You didn't have to dispatch that tengu by yourself, you know. You really overdid it this time.” 

Sojiro means to disagree, but his forehead is nearly touching the table he's hunched over. He'd barely gotten back in through the window before Genji appeared. He folds his arms, trying to sit up and recover some dignity. “What do you make of this McCree friend of yours?” 

“Him and Hanzo?” Genji clarifies, pausing to work out a knot in his father's lower back with his thumb. “They're good for each other, I knew they would be.” Genji sounds awash with pride, then goes on in a lower voice. “Seeing them together, I feel like- like I don't have to keep anija in my sights anymore, you know? I can leave the Council if I need to and and he'll be okay.” 

Sojiro hums, the room silent but for the hum of spirits and the creak of his joints under Genji's fists. That's all he really needs to hear. Hanzo is not so weak to anyone's wiles, but the firestarter has a certain pull- There was reason to be wary of anyone who appeared too charming. “Your mother definitely approves, she and your brother have the same taste.” 

Genji's laugh turns teasing. “How did she end up with you, then?” 

“Persistence and a touch of creativity,” Sojiro answers, the same as he always has. Genji laughs again and kindly pats his shoulder, having done all he can for his father's misbehaving back. Before he can stand, Sojiro turns, reaches over and touches the scarred surface of his son's hand. Despite the untamed hair and boyish eyes, his younger son keeps on maturing exponentially between visits. He tries and fails to keep the slight sorrow from his voice. “It is good to have you home. Both of you.” 

Genji smiles, assured and sideways like his mother. He squeezes Sojiro's hand tightly, his tone kindly insistent. “Tell Hanzo, too.” 

Sojiro is hushed as he watches his son depart out the window, throwing himself almost too confidently onto his broom and floating down to the ground floor despite the cold. He thinks of Hanzo's lengthy silences, of how irreparably reduced he must be in his son's eyes- of his own brother, a little bird long gone, yet his absence feels so new and so hollow. 

He rises with a small grunt, tries to rub the snowmelt from his clothes and heads downstairs. It would mean more, he thinks, for Hanzo to hear it from Genji.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops I sequeled, thanks for reading this self-indulgent worldbuilding silliness, it was a lot of fun!! Sorry it took forever and a day, I'm doing my own take on Inktober so I'm gonna hopefully be posting more shorter fics more frequently for a bit //thumbs up   
> Moment of silence for Jesse fifth-wheeling it during a family argument, we've all been there. At least the Shimadas have matching baggage.   
> Writing Sojiro and Taeko alive is really fun and different from their counterparts in my modern AU, like they lived and have aged and are still around for their sons so things are Better but Not Completely Fixed.   
> I'm still writing Hanzo as autistic (is it obvious? I'm honestly not sure). He's undiagnosed and Sojiro is neurotypical (minus the PTSD and depression, ahem) so that is part of their continued distance. He loves his son but doesn't always 'get' him. They're both trying.   
> Also I should clarify that the relationships between the clan elders and their mistresses were consensual, but they were power imbalanced, and transactional. It's still gross that Asahi is Sojiro's first cousin, but I'm not about to write that level of evil into a goofy fantasy AU, just to be clear! Ichikawa-san and the other ladies have moved on with their lives and are overall glad to be away from That Mess.   
> Serious bit over, Sita address Genji's dragon as 'big sister' in Nepali. Make of that nickname what you will~   
> Hope everyone reading this is having a lovely day!!!


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